Operation Bassinet

by Joyce Sullivan

  The weight of a little girl impacting his chest tore a real groan from him.

  Mitch opened one eye and peered up at Keely’s adorable heart-shaped face. “What is it? I’m dead.”

  Keely smiled a killer smile and held a second jelly bean pinched between her thumb and her index finger. “This one will save you.”

  As simple as that, Mitch lost his heart to her.

  “DARREN!”

  Darren hadn’t expected to be subjugated to talking to Annette through glass, an impersonal telephone sticky with the fingers of numerous prison visitors, pressed to his ear.

  He wanted to touch her delicate face, fit his fingers to hers. Fit his lips to hers and lose himself in the sensual and existential bond of their lovemaking. It enraged him to see his pixie trapped in a glass cage as if she were a dangerous animal. Her green eyes had an aggrieved sheen and there were smudges beneath them, suggesting she wasn’t sleeping well in this abominable place. She deserved so much more. They both did.

  He laid his hand on the glass between them. “I came as soon I read the article.”

  She placed her palm against his. It was daintier, but every bit his equal. “I meant every word I said. I love you, Darren.” She moistened her lips, desperation flashing in her eyes. “You know I’m innocent, don’t you? I can’t believe that anyone would think I would hurt Lexi and Ross. She was my sister. I loved her.”

  Darren gazed steadily into her soul, conscious that their conversation was more than likely being recorded or monitored. He couldn’t find fault with what he saw. “I know you better than anyone, Annette. Maybe better than you know yourself. I can’t stand to see you like this. I want you in my arms where you belong. In my bed.”

  She melted, tears sparkling on her pale cheeks like diamonds. “There’s no evidence against me. The only thing that might be damaging is Juliana Goodhew’s testimony. I don’t think she’s thought this through—considered the consequences of revealing Ross and Lexi’s secret.”

  Darren frowned. He didn’t know what she was referring to. “Secret?”

  Annette mouthed silently, “Another baby.”

  Shocked, Darren mouthed the words back to her to be sure he understood so that the phone wouldn’t pick up their conversation. “A baby?”

  Annette nodded. “There was another one,” she said in a normal tone, then reverted to speaking silently. “A boy.”

  Darren leaned back in his chair, floored by the revelation.

  “Juliana knew. So did I,” Annette said after a moment. She spelled out a four-letter name on the glass with her finger: C-o-r-t. Cort. “You must talk to her on my behalf, Darren. Make her see reason.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to find her,” he said, his brilliant mind recognizing the pitfalls of becoming involved in such an errand. Her strategy might produce an effect opposite to the one she desired.

  “You can find her through a friend of hers, Brook Sinclair. She owns the Clairmont Hotels.”

  Darren stiffened. “And the island where you were arrested?”

  Annette lowered her gaze, her lashes sweeping her cheeks. “Yes,” she admitted. “Brook keeps an apartment in the Park Terrace building on Central Park West. Juliana may be staying there.”

  Darren made a decision. It broke his heart, but he knew in the long run it would be for the best. For both of them. “I can’t do it, Annette. Talk to your lawyer. I don’t think this is in your best interests. I’ll be in the courtroom with you.”

  Anger ignited in her eyes. “Darren? Darren? Don’t leave me—”

  He hung up the phone, kissed his fingers and pressed them to the glass. “Trust me,” he mouthed. “I love you.”

  He couldn’t let her be executed. Not when he’d finally gotten her back.

  MITCH NEEDED SPACE and exercise. After spending the night in a chair at Stef’s bedside he needed to work the kinks from his body and to organize his thoughts for the interviews he planned to do today. It was already 10:00 a.m., but he could spare an hour to run three miles in Central Park, shower and dress. He needed to be on top of his game for these interviews.

  And he needed to distance his emotions from Stef and Keely. He couldn’t afford to lose his objectivity or his sharpness. Stef had been injured yesterday and Keely had come terrifyingly close to being abducted. He couldn’t risk screwing up. He couldn’t risk Stef and Keely’s safety. And there was a little girl out there who needed to be reunited with the most wonderful mommy in the world.

  The most wonderful mommy in the world? Where had that thought come from? A fleeting memory of a birthday cake and flaming candles illuminating a woman who was singing to him, calling him “dear Mitchell,” slammed into him, almost tripping him up. One of the few memories he had of his mother. He knew what it was like to feel abandoned. Unloved. He couldn’t stand the thought of Stef’s biological daughter missing out on the life Stef could give her.

  Mitch pushed himself, his stride rapidly eating up ground. He’d hoped to push his emotions for Stef and Keely into the back corner of his heart sealed behind a wall of mental determination, but images of Stef’s bruised face, her hand reaching out to him and the mischief in Keely’s eyes as she saved him from a yucky black jelly bean kept dissolving the wall.

  Out of the mouths of babes. Keely would never know that she’d saved him in more ways than one when she’d offered him that sticky piece of candy. The swift realization that he loved that irrepressible little girl had filled him with a contentment he hadn’t felt since before his grandfather had died. He had a glimpse of what was missing in his life. Of how he could be the man his grandfather had wanted him to be.

  And it scared the hell out of him.

  Mitch ran faster, his chest burning and his thighs straining until a memory from high school besieged him. He’d been warming a washcloth and pressing it to his forehead, pretending he had a fever so he wouldn’t have to go to English class because of a stupid assignment. They were supposed to make a family tree and give an oral report to the class. One half of his family tree—his father’s side—was blank. His parents had never married so he couldn’t even pencil in a marriage date. And his grandfather’s knowledge of his mother’s side of the family was pitifully sparse.

  When Paddy had seen through the fever ruse, Mitch had torn up the genealogy chart he’d made and thrown the pieces on the floor.

  Paddy had looked at the torn pieces and said, “Go to school, son. Do the work. There are some things you just can’t run away from. These are the decisions that form you—even if they make you sweat and scare the hell out of you. Do you leave your fallen comrade to be found by the enemy or do you retrieve his body for his family? Do you steal because your friends are stealing?”

  Mitch had skulked out of the room. He’d taken one picture to school with him that day instead—a picture of his grandfather in his marine uniform. His family. The teacher had given him a B.

  Mitch laughed at himself, realizing he’d found what he’d been seeking. And it made him want to just keep on running. Yes, he was scared, scared of admitting that Stef and Keely were the family he desperately wanted but had no chance of having. He still had to show up and do the work. He hadn’t liked the roller coaster of emotions that had come with the Carmen Lopez case, either. But he’d shown up, anyway, and somehow he’d managed to cope when Carmen Lopez’s body was found and his worst fears had been realized.

  He turned and headed back to the apartment. No matter what happened, he would not run away from Stef and Keely.

  “I’M COMING WITH YOU,” Stef insisted when Mitch was ready to head out of the apartment in a freshly pressed suit, his hair still damp from the shower.

  She wore black slacks that hugged her slim hips and a black sweater with a boat neck that emphasized the beauty of her collar bone and her throat. Her coat and her purse were slung over her arm. She’d put on makeup, but it didn’t disguise the shadows beneath her eyes or the nasty bruise flowering beneath the bandage on her temple.

  She
looked sexy and vulnerable and incredibly brave. And so kissable. Mitch felt a combination of sweat and fear, and wondered whether his grandfather would consider kissing a woman a life-defining moment. Probably.

  “Sorry. You’re tired. You need to rest.”

  “Someone attacked me yesterday and tried to take my baby. You think I’m going to be able to rest after that?”

  He tried another tactic. “What about Keely? Don’t you think she needs you today after what happened yesterday?”

  “She seems fine. She adores Juliana. They’ve spent the last hour planning their day. The Guardian won’t let them out of his sight. All the bases are covered.”

  Mitch didn’t believe for a minute that she was as nonchalant about leaving Keely again today as she was pretending. “You’re going to slow me down.”

  She tilted her chin up obstinately just like Keely did when she was determined to get her own way. “Are you afraid of being alone with me?”

  Mitch recognized a trap when he saw one. He was damned either way he stepped. He glowered at her, his body hungrily acknowledging every detail of her appearance. “Let’s go.”

  They would interview Pete O’Shay first. Marquise, the Hispanic butler who looked after the apartment along with his wife Valentina, drove them in a limousine to the engineering firm on East 42nd Street in Midtown where Pete worked.

  Mitch’s body thrummed with tension as he sat beside Stef in the limo. Her exposed throat was a temptation of golden satin skin he wanted to explore. He tried to keep his gaze straight ahead during the short ride and his mind on the investigation. They’d decided that they would use the same cover story they had used with Sable. Evan Mitchell was writing a biography of Brad’s life and wanted anecdotes and stories to add to the book for Keely.

  Obviously the basketball team’s center, Pete O’Shay had a boyish face that probably only required shaving three times a week.

  Pete completely fell under Stef’s spell as she deflected his question about her injury with a funny story involving a wet floor and a toilet, then she gave her spiel about the book. Mitch marveled that she could look so at ease and sound so enthusiastic when he knew she’d had such a rough night. “I was hoping you’d be willing to contribute a basketball story about Brad.” She beamed at Pete. “I thought if I asked you in person, you’d be less likely to say no.”

  Pete laughed, lapping up her attention. “Brad was an excellent defensive player. We called him the cheerleader because he was always giving us pep talks when we were losing. Sure, I’ll come up with something as long as Evan here promises to fix my spelling and punctuation.”

  Mitch grinned. “No problem. Here’s my card. You can send it via whatever media you prefer. And it would help if you could add a paragraph or two about the last time you saw Brad. We’re going to visit Mike Lipetzky next. But we’re having trouble tracking down Tony. Have you got his number or know his last name?”

  “I had his number once, but he dropped out of sight and his number was disconnected.” Pete rubbed the back of his neck. “Unfortunately, I don’t remember his last name. He maybe played with us for two or three months, but he wasn’t very reliable. He was tighter with Brad than the rest of us. After Brad died, he just stopped showing up.”

  That was the kind of coincidence that made Mitch think Tony had been hanging around Brad for the specific reason of keeping tabs on the baby. But if Tony was in on the kidnapping and the baby switch, why hadn’t he snatched Keely back after Brad’s death and ransomed her to her parents?

  One plausible explanation came swiftly to Mitch’s mind.

  Was it possible Tony was dead, too? If Tony had switched the babies, it could explain why whoever sent in the second ransom demand had been unaware that they had the wrong child.

  “Do you remember where he worked or anything that might help us locate him?”

  “Sorry. All I know is that he worked evenings and Thursday was his night off. He might have been a doorman—I saw a uniform in a dry-cleaning bag in the back seat of his car once. But Mike may know.”

  Mitch rose. “Thank you.”

  Stef took his arm as they wove through the maze of cubicles back to the elevator, her feminine touch sending ribbons of awareness curling through him. “Do you find it odd that this Tony disappeared after Brad’s death?”

  Mitch looked down at her, impressed that her thoughts were echoing his own. She was not only gorgeous, she was intuitive and intelligent. Her chestnut hair framed her delicate features and the bandage on her temple. He squeezed her fingers. Touching her was too easy. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. In fact, from what Pete said, I get the impression Tony showed up deliberately during the last month of your pregnancy.”

  Confusion rose in Stef’s green-gold eyes. “I understand how Tony could have known we were having a girl, but how could he have known I’d give birth four days before my due date?”

  “I don’t think he knew specifically at the time that he would switch Riana with your daughter—that was probably an opportunity that presented itself by chance and Tony went for it because it would be easier for him to switch the babies back. My guess is Tony was picking up info about the security procedures in the hospital that you were told about on your maternity wing tour—you took a tour, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he was learning personal information about you and Brad, so that he could bypass the hospital’s security system. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pretended to be Brad and dropped in for one of those tours. From what I saw on the videotape, Brad was a pretty proud dad, and open about sharing this experience with others.”

  Stef exhaled slowly. “Good, I was afraid I was grasping at straws. Despite the evidence we found at my house yesterday, Mitch, I’m not convinced Brad was directly involved in Riana’s kidnapping. Maybe he was involved with some conspiracy with Sable, but I don’t think for a minute that he switched our baby with the Collingwoods’ baby.”

  “You may be right. I have a gut feeling that Tony might be dead, too. I think he double-crossed whoever he was working for by switching the babies. And the fact that you and Keely were attacked yesterday suggests the kidnapper has just now figured that out. That’s why we have to find out who Tony is. He’s our link to the kidnapper.”

  Stef trustingly slipped her hand into his. Mitch accepted it tenderly, for the rare treasure that it was. “I’m game,” she said. “Let’s find him.”

  Mike Lipetzky worked for an insurance company in Jackson Heights. A gregarious man with silver infusing his brush-cut brown hair, his welcoming smile changed to a look of concern when he saw Stef. When she explained her accident, he commiserated with her over her clumsiness and her stitches and lightly kissed her cheek, then shook Mitch’s hand warmly.

  “Shall we go into my office or around the corner to the deli for a sandwich? Is this business or pleasure?”

  “Pleasure, definitely,” Mitch said. “Lunch is on us.”

  They had corned beef sandwiches with dill pickles and potato salad on the side. Stef told Mike about her move to Logantown. “If I’m careful with my finances, I won’t have to go back to work until Keely starts school.”

  “Good. Good. I tried to talk Brad into a larger policy, but it’s hard to convince healthy vital people that unforeseen accidents happen. I’m glad there was something to help you. I hope you’ve looked after Keely’s future. Call me if you’d like to talk about estate planning.”

  Mitch saw the agony reflected momentarily in Stef’s features at the insurance broker’s mention of Keely’s future. Mitch steered the conversation toward their goal and explained the biography project.

  “Ho, I could tell you a story or two about Brad,” Mike said with a smile. “But are you sure you want to hear about the last time I saw him?”

  “Definitely,” Mitch said. “Sometimes we put those events into a certain perspective that tell a lot about a person’s character.”

  The insurance broker looked hesitant. “I’m not so sur
e about this, though.”

  Stef, intuiting that her presence was hindering Mike’s openness, excused herself to use the ladies’ room.

  “I didn’t mean to run you off,” Mike protested.

  Stef brushed aside his protest. “Don’t be silly. I really do have to use the rest room. So tell Mitch whatever you’re thinking and let him decide whether it should be included in the book.”

  Mitch wasn’t alone in watching her walk across the busy deli, her body moving with vibrancy. He knew that underneath her smiles and her tigress’s determination to find her biological child, it was killing her to learn so much about her husband that she didn’t know. Every new piece of information they uncovered about Brad’s activities inflicted a new wound.

  “She’s a charming young woman,” Mike remarked. “Brad was a lucky man.”

  “Do you think he realized how lucky he was?” Mitch asked, knowing he was personally invested in the answer. He didn’t like the idea that Brad hadn’t appreciated Stef.

  “Yes and no. Losing his job hit him hard, made him forget sometimes how fortunate he was to have a wife and a healthy daughter. He was under a lot of pressure with a new baby to care for and no job.”

  “So what happened the last time you saw him?”

  “It was the Thursday before Brad died. We were having drinks at Herman’s after a game. The other guys had left and Brad wasn’t in any hurry to go home. I asked him how the job search was going and he told me that he was in limbo, in the middle of a deal. He thought he’d had a firm offer, but now it looked like that wasn’t going to happen. He was debating whether he should take the initiative and strike out on his own. He seemed anxious.”

  “You know any of the particulars?”

  “No. He wasn’t specific, which made it hard to offer any practical advice.”